


Wax Poetic

by iblankedonmyname



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Pining, Romance, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28339998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iblankedonmyname/pseuds/iblankedonmyname
Summary: Odo considers other ways to get closer to Kira.
Relationships: Kira Nerys/Odo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Wax Poetic

**Author's Note:**

> I am binging DS9 now that it's on netflix. I seem to have a fascination with shows that are over 20 years old, and I had to write something for it. Currently, I’m in season 4.

Kira made a path down the lower promenade level. Odo tracked her from his perch near the railing above. Her attention was glued to a datapad, but she lifted her focus to smile openly at those that passed her. As she approached the intersection, she gazed up at Odo on the bridge. She grinned warmly at him, waved, and continued on her way. Her dark eyes falling back to the pad with an interested focus.

_ Oh to be the datapad in her hands. _

Not exactly a professional line of thought, but Odo had it anyway. Ideas liked these passed through him regularly like a kind, familiar caress. He tried not to pin them stiffly into his memory. If he held them tenderly at first, eventually his grip would turn cruel and desperate. He had to let them go, allow them to move through him, drift away, or their lingering pleasure would become poisonous. It would be days of stewing on them, picking at them like a vulture, until they were rotten.

Still, Odo enjoyed her rapt eyes on the pad in her lifted hand. She could be reading a report for work, but he guessed it was a novel. Kira’s face was more open when reading fiction. Given the time of day, the end of Kira’s shift, and the fact that Kira had spent the previous night in Quark’s with Lieutenant Dax, it was likely a story that Dax recommended.

He leaned on the railing as she rounded the promenade’s gentle curve, shut his unnecessary eyes, and thought about her fingertips on the datapad. He could become the pad easily. Most humanoid-made devices were straightforward. The rigid shape, the hard plastic, the buttons, there and there, were simple to duplicate. Even the structures that made the device function were basic. A datapad didn’t move. It didn’t have lengths of DNA to replicate, organs to manage, or facial expressions to learn. 

Easy.

Convincing.

He could be covertly carried around the station without Kira knowing it. She would pour her warm intensity over his new form as a datapad instead. Her fingers gripped his beveled edge. She smiled at him as she read, or gasped, or giggled. When she completed her walk, Kira would take him back to her quarters and throw him casually on her bed.

Knowing the station’s standard bed linen, his slick plastic casing slipped a little on the bed as she kicked off her boots. With them removed, she slid back to the pad, read a little more. She rolled onto her back as she chewed her bottom lip, her eyes seeking and warm, cheeks flushed. 

Kira just reached the good part. When the handsome, skilled, and intelligent detective discovered the devious schemes of his traitorous lover. His hand caught her wrist. The gun was restrained in her other as he pinned her in his arms. She shook with heated indignity as he drew her to his chest. Her lips parted. The phaser clattered to the ground as they kissed. 

Kira pressed the datapad to her chest and laughed uproariously. What a ridiculous story! Dax knew Kira would love it, and she was. It was the perfect amount of camp, of old-fashioned charm. She digitally bookmarked her spot, rolled up to standing, and disrobed from her red uniform for a sonic shower. 

She zipped out of her jacket. Tossed off her belt. Reaching the full zipper for her full jumpsuit took some skill, but most humanoids on the station were used to it. Naked now, she glimpsed at her rounded shoulders in the lit mirror. Picked at a blemish before moving away toward the bathroom. She was gone long enough that the motion detector turned the lights off. The datapad slunk away into darkness.

When she returned, she barely noticed the missing pad. It was time for bed. Kira had a busy schedule the following day. First thing, there was an important dignitary arriving on a shuttle, and she wanted to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to greet them in the airlock. Kira picked out some clean sleepwear before folding back the covers and sliding into bed.

The sheets were cool to the touch. Deep Space Nine was maintained at a perfect ambient temperature for Bajorans, but surfaces didn’t absorb the heat the same way as a body. For some inexplicable reason, beds always felt cool. It was a universal truth. Kira’s warmth would have to bring the bed to a  _ perfect ambient temperature _ for herself, but then it would be a comfortable cocoon to fall asleep in. She wrapped an arm around an extra pillow and wiggled into the chill.

Her legs wrapped in the bedspread like a lover as she dozed off. The blanket weighed down on her in places but never tightly, only with awe, with an interest in bare humanoid skin and the heat produced from a pulsing heart. One whose rhythm was passed down limbs, into the bed. Reverberations that may even be felt in the space outside the station.

Dulled, but there.

Quietly.

Creating waves into the far reaches of known, and then unknown galactic systems.

She slept well. This was not a night she spent tossing and turning, dreaming of the Cardassian occupation or the war she fought. Instead, she woke refreshed, snuggled against her pillow. Her dark eyes flickered with consciousness, but she lingered in the dark, hesitant to throw her blanket off and greet the new day. Her bed was so  _ comfortable _ after all, and her drowsiness was heavy.

Her alarm went off. She groaned with annoyance, but Kira was always prompt. She couldn’t stay in bed all day, even if the idea was so,  _ so _ attractive. The sheets were thrown off brutishly. She shimmied in the air colder than the little pocket she’d formed and practically trotted to the bathroom. It was imperative she got away as fast as she could from her bed lest she was tempted to return. This was by design. But in the emptiness of the bed, and the room, that followed her departure, Odo relocated.

He wasn’t sure what to pick next, so he solidified into one of her boots. He tossed the original away, so that in the future when she struggled to relocate it after he had departed, she would drop to the floor as she became fed up with searching, and see the real shoe under her bed with the dust bunnies the cleaning staff didn’t remove. She would muse to herself what caused it to disappear as if she hadn’t worn the boot the day before.

She returned to dress moments later. Back on went her jumper, her belt, the red jacket of her uniform, and finally, her feet dipped into her boots one after another. Kira applied mild force to the heel so the ankle would seat properly on hers. Then she stood up. The leather shifted in the way a worn boot would. It was soft with wear. 

The boot held her foot and weight. She balanced well even on the stalk-like heel. The minute shifting of her muscles and bones in her calves kept her upright. Synaptic nerves fired every moment before standing to make sure she carried herself knowing her footing was different in these shoes than any other flat sole. They would take her through her days, weeks, maybe even years. A simple relationship based on support, care, and protection. So trusted, their presence was forgotten.

There was something beautiful about it.

He could become anything. 

He could be her coat, wrapping her shoulders, and arms, and back. And Heaven forbid, resting on her breast, seeping the patter of her heart again, expanding with her breath like he was a second skin, guarding her against drafts, from sickness, from unwanted touches, from hungry humanoid eyes interested in what she looked like underneath.

Or he could turn into Kira’s Bajoran earring and have full access to her neck. He supped on the velvet curve of her earlobe. Being an emblem of her faith was overwrought, but still, there was some appeal in worship, of Kira’s blind trust. He ached for her to see him as beyond doubt in the way she went to her gods when she was worried or sad. The gods harbored her when she was happy too. When something good happened, she’d go to them just the same to make her report with a smile, with thankful eyes, and joy.

But objects and possessions were trivial. He could become the texture of her skin. It was possible to press his mass so thin that he would render himself only an atom in width, but even that was too simple. He spread into the space between her cells. The throb of her inner workings surrounded him. The cacophony of her gushing blood, the sparks of her firing neurons, the symphony of bone marrow creaking, the orchestra of sinews flexing, he escaped into the forest of these sounds. He disappeared into the biome that was the woman he loved.

Planet Kira.

The only home he ever wanted.

He breathed her and her only. He drank from her streams. He ate of her fruit. Under the boughs of her trees and laying among her grassy curves, he slept. This place was without time. The rising and setting of the sun moved with the tremble and swell of her living body. 

His concern for justice was unnecessary.

He was at peace.

Odo dissolved into the vacuum of Kira’s atoms, the uniform emptiness of the subatomic layer of existence. He tore himself apart to fill her on a particulate level. This way he completed her and an impossible bliss bubbled within his gelatinous form. Order perfected.

He sighed heavily with a white-light rapture.

Abruptly, someone barrelled into Odo’s shapeshifted shoulder.

“Stop that thief!” shouted a Bajoran woman laboring to give chase. 

The thief recovered from stumbling into the constable, but was notably paler, and attempted to run again, but Odo caught his arm. His struggling was insufficient. Odo’s grip was vice-like.

“Thank you, constable!” The woman heaved when she caught up, “he stole my coin purse!”

Odo recognized the thief as a recent visitor. He had arrived a night ago on a transport from Bajor. He was barely older than a boy, and yet, was already talented at petty theft.

“Well?” Odo grumbled to his ensnared prey, “You’re caught. Return it or I will.”

The rascal looked away with a sigh but dug into his pocket to retrieve the coin bag. He offered it to the woman, who took it and immediately counted her money. She disgruntledly asked the teen for the missing latinum slips. He huffed and passed them over from a different pocket. 

“I will need your statement if you’d like to press charges,” Odo stated with an edge of annoyance.

The woman shook her head in the negative but thanked him again before moving off.

Odo’s attention turned to the thief, who was still tautly in his grip, edging to be freed. The thief stared back at him with a frown.

“Come on.” Odo gruffly tugged him toward the stairs. He had a report to write. 

His thoughts of Kira were forgotten like a cloud dissipating in the stratosphere.


End file.
